Through the Haze
by DappleRose
Summary: Through the haze comes a beacon of Hope. H/G


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Chapter 1: The Rescue

Tap tap tap. "Wake up." Aunt Petunia's voice echoed through the fog of his dream. "Wake up!"

Harry snapped upright, which was a big mistake. He slammed his head against a board that held together his cupboard under the stairs. Harry had grown several inches since his last stay inside the cupboard. Several small, black spiders scuttled down his back as they fell from their hiding place. Recently the Dursleys had realized that Harry would not, could not do anything to them. So, they locked him back up in the cupboard under the stairs. In Harry's state of mind, he wasn't able to argue or fight back. Harry scrambled out of the cupboard, glad for some fresh air. His stomach called him into the kitchen where he knew what would be waiting for him. He greedily ate the charcoal black scrapings off of the bottom of the egg pan, thinking about next week. It was then that the Weasleys would come for him. It had been prearranged at the end of the term. Nothing could keep him from leaving then. He hungrily thought that with them, every day he would have a meal not just his once-a-week meager pan scrapings.

As soon as he had finished his "meal" Aunt Petunia literally threw him back into the cupboard. Just the fact that she could do so was a measurement of how weak Harry really was. He was left alone again with nothing but the spiders that inhabited his cupboard to keep him company. Another week passed without food. This was nothing unusual to Harry. He was used to the torment that he was given. The only thing keeping him sane was the thought of going back to the Burrow. Harry lay there on his back, his eyes closed, thinking of how much better his life would be at the Burrow.

A sea of images swam through his mind, finally coming to rest on Ron. It would be so good to see his best friend again. He missed his smile and his Weasley stubbornness. Even the thought of losing to him again in wizard chess seemed inviting. Again, he let his mind wander, searching for the strength to live. His thoughts drifted to Hermione, always so level headed. She was probably studying at the moment, thinking about Ron. Harry had received an owl before he was locked up saying that Ron and Hermione had finally gotten together. It was well about time, Harry thought, nodding imperceptibly. A mental image of Ron snogging Hermione on a couch came into view before he could push it away. He did NOT want to think of his two best friends snogging one another. Casting his thoughts to the wind again, a blurry image appeared to him. As it became clearer, he found that it was of a warm fireplace and a large family crowded together around a wooden table, worn smooth by time. A plump Molly Weasley, reproving looks to Fred and George, who were whispering something to one another excitedly. Arthur Weasley, fiddling around with his new muggle toy, a stapler. Harry sighed wistfully, thinking about seeing the only family he'd ever known again.

A sharp rap at the door snapped him out of his daydreams. Was it Saturday already? His heart leapt for joy. He sprang out of his blanket-bed as fast as he could these days, which was at about a snail's pace and through all his weight on the cupboard door to try and open it. Unfortunately, someone else seemed to have the same idea and opened the door at the same time. Harry landed in a heap, yet another bruise to mark his already battered self. A startled gasp sounded, letting him know that the Dursleys weren't the only ones in the room. They wouldn't have noticed the condition he was in. It was a huge effort to get up. Every muscle in Harry's now straggly thin body groaned in protest. Vernon kicked him-"Get up, boy."-sending him sprawling on the ground. A couple of sharp intakes of breath could be heard this time as Harry let out a sharp cry of pain. A strong hand gingerly tried to help him up, making every one of the bruises on his left arm sore.

"It's all right, Harry. We're here now." The anger was evident in Arthur Weasley's voice, as if someone had committed an awful crime against himself and he didn't know what to do about it. Even Arthur, muggle lover that he was, wouldn't have hesitated to curse Vernon if there would not been a major threat to his job position if he had. Someone else rushed to his side and started to cry. Blood blurred Harry's vision as he clung onto the two people next to him for dear life.

"We are LEAVING!" Mr. Weasley said fiercely. Gently, Harry was picked up and he felt warmth lick his face, telling him that they were going to exit by the Floo Network. Someone removed his glasses, wiping the blood from his eyebrows and his tears from his eyes, letting Harry see blearily.

As they arrived, Harry could tell who had been to rescue him from the Dursleys. He saw Mr. Weasley, whose voice he had recognized, and Ginny, who had wiped his eyes. As soon as they were spotted, Mrs. Weasley ran up to them. By then, Harry could stand and was lightly embraced, as thought he was made of glass and might brake if touched roughly.

"Oh, sit down, Harry, dear! Here, I'll put on a pot of tea." She hurried to put a kettle of water to boil as Harry slowly seated himself. Like a bodyguard, Mr. Weasley sat down beside him, and squeezed his hand. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be back faster than possible with a few mugs of steaming tea. Harry excepted his with a shaking hand, which Mr. Weasley reached out to help steady. At this, Ginny, who'd been standing by the fireplace, exited the room up the stairs. Footsteps sounded in the distance, drawing closer to the kitchen. 

"Oi, Harry, is that you?" Ron's voice carried from the hall. Any minute now, Ron would emerge from the doorway and see him. Harry tried not to look too groggy and did his best to feebly hide the worst of his bruises, weakly brushing his bangs to try to cover the black eye that appeared about three days after Grunnings's stock dropped 10 points. As the footsteps were now very near, Harry looked away as Ron came into the room. Ron rounded the corner and caught sight of his best friend. He cried aloud and rushed to take Harry's hand. He craned his neck slightly to look strait into Harry's eyes, pain and fear at his best friend's state evident.

"What... happened? Was it... He Who Must Not Be Named?" he asked shakily. Nobody answered. After a few moments of dead silence, in which Ron seemed on the verge of panic, Harry finally answered.

"No, Ron." He croaked.

"Then..." Ron seemed to consider this, and finally said, "Then it was those bloody muggles! Harry THEY did this to you? Why didn't you fight back?"

"They..." Harry was now close to tears from the events of that summer, "They snapped my wand." A stunned silence followed this statement. No one ever snapped another's wand. It was a matter of the deepest disgrace, shaming one for life. It practically cut one off from the wizarding world. To many, it was a fate worse than death, for once your wand was snapped, you would be hard pressed to find a shop that would sell you another one. Mr. Weasley's grip on Harry's hand was now painfully tight, and he seemed to realize this, as he released it. They all sat there in silence for a number of minutes that seemed like hours until Mrs. Weasley finally came to her senses and stated that Harry was to get to bed that instant. Her tone bore no arguments, but Harry was quietly appreciative as she led him out of the kitchen, where the pity was so dense you could have cut it with a knife.

"Here you are, dear. Hermione will be back later from her witches' convention and would probably like to say 'Hello', and so would the twins after they return from Lee Jordan's." Mrs. Weasley said, magicking a cot out of no where and setting it down on Ron's wooden floor. Blankets and a pillow were immediately summoned from the linen closet down the hall and the bed was neatly made. Harry was barely able to mumble a "Thank you" before he fell asleep, more comfortable in this cot than he'd been all summer.


End file.
